


5 Kisses Under the Mistletoe for Jon Snow

by Kelly123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Multi, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelly123/pseuds/Kelly123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon has never been one to ask for much in the way of Christmas presents, but maybe this year it wouldn't have hurt to have requested some chapstick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Kisses Under the Mistletoe for Jon Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is my first time posting on here, so be gentle...please? I adore Christmas and fluff and this ridiculous pairing, so I threw them all together in whatever this turned out to be.
> 
> It's Modern AU and set in America, because I'm not even a little bit Brit-savy and would embarrass the living daylights out of myself if I attempted to be. Let's add roughly 14 or so years to the ages of the characters in the first book. Most everyone is somewhere in the range of twenty-ish.
> 
> Enjoy, and MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I.  
Sansa is the first, as unexpected as that might be.

She is up before the rest, while the house is still silent and the sun is just peeking over the horizon. She doesn’t make a sound as she pads down the hallway passed what used to be his room and now functions as guest lodgings, but all the same he finds himself wide awake not long following. His jet-lag is all-consuming, and he wishes he could close his eyes and fall back into blessed sleep, but there is sunlight shining through his windows now, and he knows that thought is hopeless. The time difference is wreaking havoc on his internal clock, telling him for all intents and purposes he should up and working right now, and he wishes he had thought to bring black-out curtains like the other guys when they came back to the States. 

It’s not all so bad though, and when the smell of the coffee she is brewing wafts upstairs he resigns his fleeting taste of laziness and kicks off his covers to follow his nose down into the kitchen. Real coffee, not the weak brown swill he chokes down in the African village where he and the rest of the Peace Corps are building wells and teaching English, is something he is willing to suffer through a few more hours sleep deprivation for. He knows that once the rest of the family arrives there will be no chance for catching a nap, not with his stepmother’s annual Christmas Eve party preparations in full force and the house full of Starks once more. He can guess why his sister would want to savor the few moments of peace and quiet before the holidays at Winterfell erupt with people, presents, food, and most likely some sort of disaster, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the madness with a bit of the same giddiness he had as a child. Perhaps even more, now that he’s grown and his stepmother’s glares don’t hurt quite as bad as they used to. He hopes that having everyone together again will help to bring a genuine smile back to Sansa’s face, not the false, blank one she had grown to wearing in the past few years.

She had only just moved back home in the fall, leaving a high profile P.R. job, a fiancé and a decade’s worth of secrets behind in D.C. for the familiar walls of the house she had spent her childhood in. He supposes she still isn’t sleeping well, even with the therapist he isn’t supposed to know Dad is paying for. She had been the only one awake when he had gotten in late last night, taking a cab from the airport because international flights didn’t exactly have family-friendly hours, though both Dad and Robb had offered to pick him up. He was glad he refused them when his flight was, of course, delayed, and he didn’t land until sometime after 3:00 am, coupled with the half hour ride out of city limits back home. He was surprised to find the light on in the den when he let himself in the back door, Sansa curled up on the couch and watching something in black and white with the volume down low. She had given him a weak smile but made no motion for him to join her, so he nodded a greeting and made the familiar trek to his room on heavily legs, the sound of Jimmy Stewart’s voice lulling him to sleep long before she turned the television off.

If she is feeling any worse for wear due to what little sleep she herself got last night she doesn’t show it. The coffee is percolating and she’s turned on the Christmas trees which sit in the alcove halfway down the stairs, casting a gentle glow to light his way while the sun still rises. There is a low stool in the doorway to the kitchen from the wing off which his room is located, and she stands atop it, affixing a sprig of greenery to the paneling for the party that night. He can hear her humming softly to herself as she works, and the sound of her voice, just as sweet as it had been when she was still a girl, makes him smile despite his sleepy-stupor. She used to sing all the time, but it’s been years since he last heard her and he is glad for the reminder that some part of the innocent girl he had grown up with remains. She is engrossed in her work, trying the red silk ribbon just so, and though he tries to approach her calmly, as though she were a skittish animal, she still startles at the sight of him.

She teeters for barely a moment on unsteady feet before he takes a few quick steps forward and catches her, hands around her waist while she steadies himself on his shoulders. The two of them had never been anything resembling close when they were children, and he knows that she shies away from contact with any males now, even with Robb, who was always her favorite, and yet it still makes his heart grown heavy when she pales visibly at their proximity. Looking away from those scared blue eyes, he lifts her gently from the stool to set her on her feet when he hears it, a “thank you” so faint he thinks he could have imagined it. He might have too, were it not for the gentle brush of her lips against his cheek. He pulls back quickly, perplexed at this show of affection from the sister who never bore him any lost love, and she points to the mistletoe above them in silent explanation. His lips pull back over his teeth is a wide grin quite unlike his natural half smile, but the sight of her returning the gesture, a bit shyly, but truly with warmth, is too great for him to take notice of just how foolish his reflection might be.

She bustles off after giving his shoulder a quick squeeze, gathering up other decorations and moving into the adjacent hallway to continue putting up a few last minute touches. Still smiling, he pours himself a cup of coffee while he hears her begin to sing once more, her voice stronger this time.

II.  
Arya is supposed to be next, but it doesn’t quite work out like he had expected.

His youngest sister blows in like an old familiar hurricane just around lunchtime, of course without a trace of the poise and grace her mother had tried so hard to instill in her before she left for college and he loves her all the more for it. The polar opposite of their prim and proper sister, who had been a good little girl and attended Columbia like Robb before her, Arya had mortified Catelyn when she chose some small, obscure liberal arts school on the west coast that no one who was anyone had ever heard of. Jon thinks that is precisely the reason she has decided to stick around for her masters at the place...not that she has specified just exactly what she’s getting the degree in, though he’s sure it will be the least appropriate field she can find, just for spite. He’s visited a time or two whenever he has free travel, and her apartment is a wreck and her hair is short and she has taken up fencing, of all things, but she’s happy and thriving and that alone makes the distance between them a little bit more bearable. She’s always needed space to spread her wings, and he’s happy she’s finally found it.

She’s back for Christmas, of course, just like they all are, every year. It’s gotten harder and harder as they’ve grown older and spread out, what with the girls having been out of state and himself out of the country, Bran attending college in the city and Robb always traveling for work with only Rickon still at home, but they all make it a priority to make it back home in upstate New York to spend the holidays together. Even her, his independent little sister who turns her nose up at northern tradition now, knows it just wouldn’t feel right to be anywhere else on December 24th than surrounded by family. She would deny it, but he knows she’s excited to see everyone again...even Sansa.

They hear her from a mile away coming up the long and winding drive, nothing but screeching tires and shifting gears and radio blaring some mumbled garbage that definitely isn’t Bing Crosby. Dad had gone to pick up Bran from his dorm across town earlier that morning so that he could stop by the liquor store and pick up the order for the party, and they brought back half a dozen pizzas with them for lunch. Eating off of paper plates so that they can keep the kitchen decent before the caterers get there in to start setting up, they keep a large supreme warm in the oven for the sister who was supposed to arrive an hour ago. Catelyn is in full party mode, and Dad has already retreated back to his study, taking a slice with him while they rest of them are strewn haphazardly around the kitchen. Jon leans up against the counter and shoots a knowing smile at Bran who has parked his wheelchair next to an oblivious Sansa at the table while they listen to their youngest brother get in trouble. He’s tried to sneak off with a bottle of vodka, the expensive kind, of course, meant for some sort of festive punch, but Rickon only wants to slip a bit of it into the flask he stole off Bran’s roommate to flavor his own drinks despite the fact he’s still in High School. Catelyn snatches it back and Jon can seem the boy silently fuming, and he is grateful for the diversion when the engine finally idles and car doors slam. Shoving the last bite of crust in his mouth and makes for the front entryway, slipping a sprig of mistletoe from Sansa’s pile of decorations in the front pocket of his sweatshirt as he goes to greet their most recent arrival.

Her voice is a welcome, in not entirely appropriate, sound, and her shouted profanities are even more diversified in person than in the emails they exchange when he has internet access. He pushes past the front door to find her standing in the driveway, hands on hips while she argues vehemently with the tall, muscular man who stands before her, a bemused look on his face. He dwarfs her tiny frame by several inches, but she pays his size little heed, punching him in the arm repeatedly and calling him stupid...among other things. Jon’s never met the guy, but he surmises from the tone of their exchange that this must be the person who occupies so much text in their emails, and that his given name is in fact Gendry instead of stupid, not that she ever uses it. GendrynotmybroyfriendshutupJon, is how he thinks of the man in his head, but the looks the two give each other when they think the other isn’t looking does enough to dispel her feeble refutes.

He is doing his best to sneak up on her, his wily little sister who claims she has only grown stealthier with age and practice, hoping to put what he’s learned living off the land in Africa to good use. She seems good and distracted after all, what with the rate at which her curses are coming and her fists are flying, so he thinks he’s got a pretty good shot at catching her unawares this time. He gets the mistletoe ready, lifting his hand up to wave it above her head and swooping down to press a kiss to the crown of her choppy brown hair when-

When he feels his lips press against the divot between Gendrynotmyboyfriend’s collar bones instead.

Not quite the target he was aiming for. And would it kill the guy to snap a few more buttons on his flannel, really? Not everyone wants to see that much naked man chest at a family function.

Except maybe Arya, of course, who has removed herself from between the two men as quick as a flash, and is laughing hysterically, whatever argument she was having with her not-boyfriend long forgotten as she collapses to the pavement in a convulsion of giggles. Jon shoots her a glare with no malice behind it, but she only laughs harder, puckering up her lips at him and clutching her stomach. He faces the man before him with a shrug, offering his hand in greeting instead of his mouth this time.

III.  
His brother’s girlfriend comes after, but it’s not as creepy as it sounds.

It isn’t Robb’s girlfriend of course, because as strange as it is to think of Robb, the up and coming politician, as having a girlfriend again, he does. His divorce from Roslin wasn’t even final yet when he had announced that he would be bringing a date to Christmas Eve, a decision which was sure to be fodder for gossip about his faithfulness to his ex-wife during their ill-fated marriage for party guests. Their separation was already a tense subject at best even around the family, and Catelyn’s eyes had bulged and Dad had swallowed uncomfortably, or at least that was the description he had gotten from Robb while his brother vented the entire situation to him during one of his longer layovers. His own biggest concerns were for his nephew, as are Robb’s, and in the end arguments were put off for the little boy’s sake. It was decided that while Jeyne would come for the party, she wouldn’t stay the night, so that Roslin could bring their son over and everyone could open presents together on Christmas morning like they had before the split. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was as close as it was going to get, so they all smiled and tried to act casual when Robb showed up with this new girl on his arm.

She is pretty enough, with a soft voice and big eyes which were nervously flitting about the room, clearly uncomfortable with her role in the awkward situation. That much was understandable, and his heart felt for her. When she naively stood beneath the mistletoe to sip her eggnog, Jon didn’t think laying one on her would be the best way to help her acclimate to the family, so he kept his distance.

Neither did he approach Bran’s girlfriend, or better said, his soon to be fiancé. His middle brother had ushered Arya and Jon into his room earlier in the evening before Meera arrived, digging around in his sock drawer to show them the glittering solitaire Sansa had helped him pick out for his high school sweetheart which that he was planning on giving to her Christmas morning. Even Arya had gotten a little teary eyed at the sight, though she disguised it as only she could by kicking his wheelchair and telling him it was pretty enough, if you liked sparkly things. Jon squeezed his shoulder and assured him she would love it, marveling at how grown up his brother had become and assured that he would make a fine husband.

Besides, Meera was pretty much a member of the family already, and if he tried to corner her, she probably would have just whipped around before his lips touched her and kissed him instead.

No, it was Rickon, who just about knocked all of them off their feet with a bit of news right before the guest began arriving. The doorbell rang for the first of many times that night and Catelyn rose to greet it, only to be pushed aside by the youngest Stark barreling towards the door. Being as Rickon normally had to be coerced into being cordial with guests, their confusion was only exacerbated when he mumbled over his shoulder at them in that almost-growling way of talking he had that ‘oh yeah, his girlfriend was coming to the party.’ Arya spit out her coke (on her not-boyfriend, who wiped it off calmly as though it had happened before) and Sansa gasped aloud while the oldest sons exchanged sideways glances. Rickon? A girlfriend? Surely not, this half-wild boy whose only social interaction usually existed of the fights he was constantly getting in at school? His mother had tried to get him to attend formals with several of her friend’s daughters, but frankly, the girls had all been too scared of him to accept an invitation...if he had agreed to make one, which he never had. Trying to hide their bafflement, they mustered up uneasy smiles at the sound of his returning footsteps, unsure of what, or who, to expect when he presented this new girl to them. 

However, nothing could have prepared them for the sight of Shireen Baratheon standing under the mistletoe in their foyer.

Her uncle was an old friend of his father’s, and in years past she had been a familiar face at various Winterfell functions before Robert had died and family tensions had become strained. It had been some time since their families had stopped exchanging Christmas cards though, as her father wasn’t exactly the social type. Jon himself knew the girl better than the rest of the family, since she had done a semester abroad in Eastern Europe a few years ago while he was stationed there for the Corps. She interned with them over the summer and shadowed him some, and he remembered a bright girl, a bit uncomfortable around strangers, but with a sweet smile and a vastly underestimated wit. 

She was older than Rickon, but also wiser and more level-headed, which he hoped would mean a good buffer for when his temper got the best of him. His baby brother could do far worse than the girl whose hand he held tightly clasped with his own, and though he never would have put the two together on his own, he thought they made a good match. The others seemed to agree with him, and it was as though a cumulative sigh of relief was exhaled when she gave a small wave and tugged a piece of dark hair over her unfortunate ears. She had never been pretty, and perhaps that was why Rickon introduced her to the family with his chin high and a fiercely protective tone in his voice, as though daring them to contradict his secret relationship, but he needn’t have been concerned. Being the girl who could make that boy smile was more becoming than any amount of make-up in the North.

The doorbell rang again and the spell was broken, ‘welcome back’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ issued all around. Catelyn gave her a warm hug and took Ned’s hand to go welcome the first of their guests while the siblings clustered around the baby of the family to cajole him as was their duty. Arya teased him mercilessly and Robb informed him with mock seriousness that they would need to have a little talk about a few things later, causing Shireen to blush furiously. Jon leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple amid the acne scars which she was so ashamed of without a second thought, at which she relaxed visibly, giving him a warm smile in return as if in thanks. 

Rickon narrowed his eyes at that, stepping between his brother and his girlfriend defensively, but Jon only laughed at the boy and told him to watch where he stood that night, or he might be next.

IV.  
He blames his fourth kiss on the alcohol, despite the fact that he has been babysitting the same beer all night. 

Between trying to keep an eye on Rickon around the alcohol and stopping Arya from offending the neighbors and changing the conversation whenever someone would bring up Joffrey around Sansa, he had barely had enough time to indulge in the lavish bar set-up surrounding him. Not that he had ever been much of a drinker, but he would certainly be needing a shot after this one; several of them wouldn’t be a bad idea actually. 

Actually, if given the choice, he would have gladly agreed for another go around with Gendry. 

That wasn’t to be the case, however, and when it came down to it the decision to kiss or be kissed was not his to make. So it came to be that he found himself on the receiving end of a voraciously hungry set of lips which tasting of gin and bitterness, helpless to anything but struggled in vain against a very determined and desperate lady. In other words, he found himself stranded in the kitchen and pressed up against the pantry door by none other than his stepmother’s sister, Lysa. 

There wasn’t even mistletoe there, one of the few doorways which Sansa had blessedly neglected to garnish with the greenery in the entire downstairs. And he would have told her that, had he managed to free his mouth from hers for a split second to gasp for air and beg release, but she didn’t seem all to concerned with his wishes given the present circumstances. 

He did not know the woman well, as she had not been a frequent visitor when he still lived at home. Her husband had been older than she and on the frail side, and traveling was difficult on him in the years before his death. Even if that hadn’t been the case, her presence was never particularly missed, even by her own sister. Mr. Arryn, on the other hand, had been a welcome guest, always handy with a story for the kids about dad when he was a boy which left Robb and himself in tears with mirth while their father shook his head good-naturedly. Jon missed the man, though the same might not be said of his wife. If she any had stories of her own, they were sure to be sour ones, and no one cared much to hear them. The years had not been good to her, and she looked older than Catelyn, even if she was the younger of the two, with a hard face and a soft stomach which overrode her Tully complexion. It was as though she had taken the years two at a time, though he doubted it was due to any grief over her husband’s death which had caused her to age so. There had been no great love in their marriage, and she always seemed to hold her sister’s own match in contempt, as if she had done her some dishonor by finding happiness with her own husband.

Aunt frumpy, dumpy, grumpy-pants, Rickon called her, but she was not aunt of his (thankfully), and so he had never been sure of what to called the woman, and usually settled on ma’am.

It was what he had tried to call her before she had caught him unawares, coming in from the dining room and thinking himself alone in the kitchen. He had been sent to retrieve Robb’s Christmas card, with the picture of his nephew sitting on Santa’s lap, off of the refrigerator to show one of their old classmates, but he never made it there. Leaning heavily against the island in the middle of the room, drink in hand, she had eyed him predatorily when he entered the room, causing him to linger nervously in the doorway. Bad decision, of course, because that entry had not been forgotten by his sister...unfortunately.

Locking her arms around his neck, she had yanked him across the threshold and backed him up against the pantry without a word save for a rather obscene moan in the back of her throat. Splaying his arms out of either side of him, he tried desperately to gain purchase on anything that wasn’t her. What she might say if he laid a hand on her, even if just to push her away, terrified him, and his mind raced to formulate an escape. Silently he prayed for rescue, though from whom he wasn’t sure. Not the woman’s sister, for what would be a fate worse than death. Her disdain for him, the bastard, had always burned brightly, and an opportunity like this would only give her reason to fan the flames. Nor would it be any better to be found by his siblings, especially Robb or Arya who would surely be wondering where he was with the photograph by now. No, the mortification he might receive at their hands could very well be worse than the rain of hellfire sure to be found in his stepmother’s eyes...though he was not eager to encounter either situation.

At best, he could hope that she would soon come to her senses and leave him be. She was a sad, lonely woman, that much was obvious, and he was sure the shame she would have to endure at having attacked a man practically young enough to be her own son would be harder on her than him having to endure a few more moments of her persistent tongue hammering away at his tightly sealed lips. That or he could always just wait on her to pass out, which might be the more realistic option, judging by the smell of her. 

In the end, neither of these came to pass, and in fact his rescuer was one worse than he possibly could have imagined.

He didn’t think that Theon was even invited this year!

V.  
He doesn’t get a proper kiss until the party is almost over.

But it’s the best one he’s had in longer than he’d care to admit, so he’s not particularly fussy about the details.

Feeling a strong need to be away from the swarm of people inside, he is nursing his pride and rinsing out his mouth with whiskey when he comes across Shireen’s cousin on the veranda. He doesn’t recognize her at first, though it isn’t surprising considering how much she’s changed since that one summer her family came to visit when they were little more than children. Well, he had been a freshman, but she wasn’t even in middle school yet, and he hadn’t given her a second glance but to mock her pathetic crush on Robb. She’s older now, and got that Lannister blonde hair ratted into dreadlocks and gathered into an enormous knot on the top of her head, but there’s still something in the way she holds herself that reeks of etiquette classes despite the dirt on her motorcycle boots.

It isn’t until he sees her alone out there that he remembers Shireen asking if she could tag along. Her family situation is twisted at best, with her father dead and her mom in prison, one brother off at boarding school and another on a straight shot to hell. She’s been spending her break from school with one of her uncles, he doesn’t remember which, but there was something about a naked woman using her toilet while she showered, so he guesses it has got to be Tyrion and that she needed some space.

He understand that, right about now.

She is packing a box of cigarettes against the back of her hand when she notices him, and only stops momentarily to acknowledge him with a nod. There’s a familiarity in the gesture, like it had been days since they last seen each other instead of years, and it feels natural to return it and slide into the empty lawn chair next to her. Rolling a cigarette between her fingers, she asks if he minds, and he doesn’t, but he knows Catelyn would flip, and almost tells her not to light it here. But maybe it’s the way his raw lips still burn that has him feeling vindictive enough to give her the go ahead and even bum one off her.

He’s never been any good at smoking, not since he and Robb used to choke themselves half to death practicing on ones they lifted off of Uncle Ben, and once he takes his first drag he knows he’s just going to let the thing gather ash in his hands. Instead of bringing it to his lips he watches her out of the corner of his eye while they sit in comfortable silence and he finishes off what’s left of his drink. She breathes out into the night and the smoke comes out thick and curled against the dark and it’s almost pretty, especially since it lets him know she isn’t inhaling. Wondering how much more of this little tough girl thing is an act, he asks if she’s even old enough to buy these things, and the look she gives him is so not intimidating it’s almost endearing.

But she throws the cigarette to the ground to stomp beneath her boot, and he does the same.

She tells him she isn’t some kid, that she’s graduating early next semester and he doesn’t know her at all so he can just shut up, with expletives inserted frequently. It’s all out in one breathe, and he doesn’t think the color rising in her cheeks can be entirely attributed to the cold, but he bites his tongue and tries not to smirk at her. This seems to agitate her even more, and she snatches the glass from his hand and brings it to her lips to prove her point only to find it empty, and it’s next to impossible not to laugh at the way her façade is shattering around her. That is, until he notices the ways her eyes well up like she’s half a breath away from bursting into tears and the humor in the situation vanishes.

Nothing makes him feel like an incompetent virgin again like a woman crying, and he curses his decision to ever come outside in the first place. He wants to bolt from the scene, but his only other option right now to go face hoards of people who have no doubt heard from Theon about his escapades with the would-be cougar of the Vale right now, and the thought makes him shiver.

So instead he decides to be comforting even though Arya says he’s hopeless at it, and takes the tumbler back from her hands to set it on the ground gently, turning his back while he does so to give her a moment to compose herself. It’s started snowing at some point in the evening, and the flakes are coming down steadily but softly around them. The leather jacket she’s got one looks like it was built to handle the interior of an Urban Outfitters more than a Northern snowfall, so he shrugs out of his own coat and slips it around her shoulders. At first the looks she gives him is suspicious, sullen even, and he wonders what she’s seen to make her question such a simple gesture. But then her eyes close in bliss at the warmth he’s left behind, and when they re-open she smiles at him in the sweet way reminiscent of the girl he once met.

There’s a familiar white shape padding through the snow towards them, and he starts to stand and grab Ghost’s collar before he gets too close. He’s huge, the albino malamute/wolf cross he’s had since forever, and although his red eyes are cloudy with cataracts and his movements stiff from arthritis, he knows the animal still poses a threatening figure to most people.

She asks if that’s his dog, and he is taken aback by the change in her voice, now alight with curiosity, as are her eyes when she turns to ask if she might pet him. She says something about being surprised he’s still around, and he’s half shocked she remembered, but her words are jumbled and faint in his ringing ears.

He’s a grown man, quite a few years her senior and yet his heart gives a strange twist when she places a hand on his arm, and there are no words in his throat when he silently nods his approval, earning him another one of those smiles which has him feeling like a hopelessly inept boy all over again. 

There is greenery all stuck in Ghost’s fur when he reaches them, and he smells a little like pine and gasoline like he’s been hiding out from all the hoopla in the garage where they stashed the extra decorations. He gives Jon’s thigh an obligatory nudge with his nose, and licks the tips of Myrcella’s outstretched fingers before dropping his head to give a good shake, showering them both with melting snow and sprigs of foliage.

She giggles, something which should sound foreign coming from a mouth which was just a moment ago etched in a grimace, but she’s wearing a huge grin now and he thinks it suits her much better. He doesn’t quite notice the cold seeping into his skin until she reaches over to brush off his shoulder and he subconsciously shivers without the warmth of his coat. Her touch is soft and way more electric through his shirt than should be possible, and he tries to control his breathing before noticing that her own has grown rather erratic as well. She pulls something green out of his hair and bites her lip, locking eyes with him in a way that makes his heart race.

“Is this mistletoe?” she asks in a voice barely above a whisper, and suddenly Jon is blessing his beautiful sister and all of her ridiculous decorations.

“Close enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have other stuff posted under the same name at ff.net. I'm not quite sure the etiquette for keeping up with two accounts, though I prefer this forum. Do I repost what I have there, or just leave it be? Any who, thanks for reading!


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